


Home

by fairdeath



Category: Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Making Out, Morning Cuddles, Morning Kisses, Non-specific but typical male/female partner relationship roles portrayed, Sleepy Kisses, Wake Up Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/fairdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything smells like Mark; alpha male, safety, warmth, sweat, <i>home</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Since nearly the beginning of your presence on the internet you had known him, spoken to him, visited as often as time permitted. Mark is your best friend, your right hand man, your Player Two, and your partner.  Distance was hard; it was the reason you’d hesitated to go through with saying yes when he asked you to be his girl. It hadn’t ended well beforehand; distance makes the heart grow fonder is both terrifyingly true and disgustingly false. While falling harder for the lopsided smiling idiot on the other side of the screen, you missed him more and more each time you saw his face.

But that isn’t an issue anymore. He’d asked you to move in with him. Of course it had been that way; his work is so much easier, living so close to the hub of everything. It was possible to live away from it all, of course, but as someone who thrives off the energy of those around him, LA is where he belongs. Planning, packing, leaving home, family, friends behind is painful to go through; but Mark is your home. Mark is your family, his friends are yours. Being with him, by his side, and him by yours is what is important.

 

Grogginess is the first thing you are aware of when your consciousness comes to you. Once you’ve registered that, you breathe in jauntily, the first conscious breath like straight espresso to your veins. Mark. Everything smells like Mark; alpha male, safety, warmth, sweat, _home_. Flexing your hands and toes, you meet the feeling of the cool air against your bare back, crisp sheets below you, and the tickle of your hair against your face.

“Good morning,” comes his quiet voice, thick and dripping of velvet from sleep. You feel the mattress adjust with the weight of his hands on either side of you before his breath hits your back, lips brushing your waist. He presses his lips against your spine, murmuring as he goes, “I’ve missed you while you were sleeping in.” He continues caressing your skin, scuff dancing across your bones. “But I want to christen every inch of this place officially, and I don’t know how much longer I can wait,” And, oh my, how you have missed hearing that voice without static. He continues his kisses up, reaching your shoulder blades. Humming in recognition, eyes remaining closed, you slowly turn to your back, letting the onslaught of kisses continue across your frame. As you turn, Mark lowers himself to his elbows, kissing your cheek, then nose. You feel yourself smile giddily at the feeling of being by his side, and his forehead pressed against yours. 

“I missed you,” you feel his lips brush against yours as he reminds you of this. Exhaling roughly, you connect your lips in return, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers tracing shapes against the space between his shoulders. He tastes like he always has, and it elates you to remember you don’t have to wait months between tastes anymore. Grinning against his own smile, you pull back slightly.

“I’ve been here all night, dumby,” you murmur, shaking your head slightly. Pressing your lips against his once more, you wrap your legs around his hips, tugging him to one side.  Mark falls next to you, immediately gripping your waist with his free hand, pulling your closer to him. Opening your eyes, you breathe in sharply, soaking in the serenity of the morning (or is it afternoon?). Mark is almost glowing, the sun shining through slits in the blinds to trace his skin as you wish to with your mouth. As you _have_ _done_ with your mouth. The sun light glimmers as it dances through the air and against his skin, dragging your focusing eyes along his warmed face, accentuated collarbones, his toned chest and stomach.

“God, I always forget that you’re _real_ ,” you mutter, surging forward and capturing his face between your hands, twisting to sit across his hips. His laughter comes breathily against your face, the sound beating against your chest. Feeling his hands travel over your frame, grip your hips, trace patterns against your thighs. Sitting up, your hands holding your weight evenly across him, he _tsk_ s softly at you.

“I was just about to say the same thing,” he speaks low and slowly, eyes travelling across your naked chest, bare stomach, to where you’re sitting against his hips, and back up to your face, spending just as long drinking in your eyes, lips, cheeks, as he did the curves of your body. Smirking, you run a hand through your hair to push it from your face.

“Glad we both know how hot you are, then,” you reply blankly. He huffs in turn, wrapping an arm higher up around your back, pulling you back to him. Pressing your full weight against him, bare chest to chest, you hold his face in your hands, fingers grazing his ears, his facial hair teasing against your palm. You take him in for just a moment, savouring the feeling; lazy morning make outs were a luxury you could not afford until now. Now, you had all the time in the world, essentially, to take this in; the flush across his cheeks and forehead, the disarrangement of hair you can’t help but bury your hands in, the hooded, startlingly intense look he gives you, the slightly parted lips, and the feeling of your chests rising and falling in sync.

Running his right hand along your back, tracing your spine, lighting fire across your skin where his touch leaves, he brings his left to the back of your head, braiding his fingers into the hair at the base of your scalp, running it up to your crown, holding it there. He pulls your face to his, locking his lips on yours, pulling a whine from your chest. Kissing back, you prompt him to open his mouth, taunting his lips with your tongue. Obliging, he kisses you with open mouth, tongue meeting yours instantly, pressing back against your own, licking up and into your mouth. His tongue caresses yours, hand in your hair falling to cup your face as yours do his. Pulling away from you, he thumbs at your bottom lip, thick and red from kisses.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, eyes flickering from your glazed over eyes, to flushed cheeks, to swollen lips. And don’t you believe it, lying in his bed, with him beneath you, staring at you like you hung the goddamn moon.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm TrashTM  
> 


End file.
